


To Be.

by haechansheaven



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dead People, Demons, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Soulmates, Star-crossed, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haechansheaven/pseuds/haechansheaven
Summary: “In the sunlight,” he explains, “wanders a demon. Mothers warn their children not to stray far from home when the sun is in the sky, and it feels almost akin to a rite of passage to observe it. It is said that everyone in this town has seen it. No two recollections are the same.”
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	To Be.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeannedarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannedarc/gifts).



> to appia:  
> two things.  
> 1\. happy day of birth you lovely human being.  
> 2\. thank you for donating. :] i know it is cheap to hit two birds with one stone, but i am a bit of a scrooge.  
> i do hope you enjoy :]
> 
> for readers. please note the use of pronouns as the story progresses :]
> 
> **tag notes:** the religious imagery/symbolism and the concept of demons is very vague and does not need to be interpreted as such. the concept of soulmates is odd here, and a bit sudden. also, it is one dead person. he has been dead for a very long time.

They say that there is a man who lives deep in the forest. They tell him, when he moves to town, that he should only walk between the trees at night; that the moon will keep him safe and guide him back home. He does not understand, when mothers always seem to tell their children to only go as far as the sunlight can reach and to return home when it decides that it has seen enough blue skies. Before bed, as a child, his father would press his chest to the ground and blink into the darkness that lingered beneath furniture, reassuring his son that no monsters fester away from the light to whisper lies into his ears as he sleeps.

The house is old and rests just before the trees, walls old and heavy, breathing with every passing breeze. It is haunting in the sort of way that Sicheng thrives in. He breathes in and lets the history settle in his lungs; cross into his bloodstream and take root in his soul. There should be something to say about the way that Kun stares at the house, unbridled uncertainty with a stroke of fear. Instead there is silence. Kun is resigned to Sicheng’s decisions. The distance between them, with this move, has become too great for him to shatter their friendship.

Sicheng does not know how much truth to put into the words of the people whose families have called this town home for hundreds of years. He is something of a child of the sun. It is his comfort, rising with the sun, returning home as it beckons him. So long as the sun exists, Sicheng will not know strife of the eternal kind.

He will not be here long enough for the warnings of the people to take root in his heart. He will not be here long enough for those around him to pull him back from the edge and convince him of the dangers in the sun. That is not why he is here; the words of these people are empty and without reason, and Sicheng has taught himself over time to understand and trust himself and the sun and nothing else. No one else. Time only allows for habits that are easily broken by will. Sicheng will develop them as a result of his presence and he will break them when it is time to depart. The sun has only risen twice on the forest when this thought crosses his mind—a reminder that it is something to push away for the moment.

On his third day, a phone, abandoned on the kitchen table, rings in the middle of the night. The moon, at its highest, listens to the conversation with its ear pressed to the window. Around the house, life seems to still with a bated breath. Memories unroll, creeping in through cracks under closed doors. They beckon him towards the kitchen, where he stands in the shadows.

He should answer it, rather than leaving time to pass and dust to collect. But Sicheng is a child of the sun, his mind finding peace and emptiness under the moon. It rings again as the sun rises and, with it, Sicheng’s consciousness. It is Kun, whose voice fills the void left behind by the noise that Sicheng pushes from his private space.

“Are you settling?” Kun asks, tone gentle. “Are the people kind? Are they respectful? Do you require company?”

“They are…”

Sicheng hesitates. He is not sure if they are kind, or wary, or ignorant, though it is likely a mix of every single thing a human can be. There is intrigue and wonder and fear, concealed under a thick layer of elation. A new face is not common in these parts, for these people, and Sicheng offers them an escape from the dull reality they have existed in for so many generations. He supposes that they are kind enough, and they are respectful enough, and that he does not require company. So he tells Kun as much, listening to the way his voice drops.

“I see.” There is clattering in the background and voices that Sicheng finds fond. “I suppose I will work harder to convince them that you are fine alone.”

“I am always fine alone.” Sicheng cannot help the indignation that seeps into his voice. It is a byproduct of the land, he thinks. The people’s history is becoming his, in a way. Such is a natural procession, though he abhors it all the same. “But do let them know that their presence is, as it always is, missed. This will not be difficult.”

Kun falls silent, a sign of contemplation, as Sicheng reaches out to open a window. The forest around his small home is

“It will hurt,” Kun finally speaks, words sharp. He feels them run down his neck and dig into the flesh of his back. “And it will not be easy. There is no doubt in your ability, but there is always concern.”

Concern is an empty word, though, as Sicheng knows there is no need for it. As long as the sun shines, Sicheng will find comfort wherever he may go. Separation will always hurt. Once adapted, it is never something easy to tear roots from the ground. They will wait for him until the day he returns, if ever. It is a decision for another day and, for now, Sicheng can view the forest with a sense of peace.

“But it will not kill me.”

“You know,” Kun’s voice is far away and Sicheng can pretend that they are not worlds away from one another as he holds the phone in his hand, “you should follow your instinct.”

A breeze crawls through the window. It curls around Sicheng’s neck and pulls tight. It is a sign.

“I know.”

* * *

The trees call to him. Sicheng cannot fathom what they are saying, but he can hear their voices on the wind, carried on flower petals and the molted feathers of fledglings. There is a world outside to welcome him, though he is kept inside by faces that, once strange, are now familiar. They appear before the sun has risen—the brief time at which the moon has fallen and yet the sun is not yet awake.

At his table sits a man whose smile is too wide, humility too great. Things are scheduled and structured here in a way that allows Sicheng to prepare, regardless of how unpredictable the people are. His name is Kunhang Wong, and he is a face that Sicheng has seen once before, through the window of a house; fear-stricken and wary. There is comfort in his face, now, though Sicheng does not know where it comes from.

“I see you’ve adjusted okay to the town.” His gaze roams around the kitchen before it settles back on Sicheng, whose form stands firm in front of the stove, kettle heating. “Staying inside is pretty rough, isn’t it?”

“Why,” Sicheng asks, “are we not to go outside when the sun is in the sky?”

“Well,” hand propped under his chin, Kunhang smiles, “they say that there’s a demon that roams the forest that surrounds this town. Those, you know, bits of forest that seem to cut through the town? They’re kept there so the demon can roam as it pleases.”

Sicheng does not understand as monsters are things that exist under the moonlight. They are products of a wretched sort of power which cannot thrive under the eye of the sun. To live in a place they cannot, they must be the powerful sort. Such a story contradicts the very foundation of human nature, in a sense. In this town, everything seems to be backwards.

“Does that not… unsettle you?”

“What?” Kunhang accepts the tea gratefully. “The whole believing in monsters thing? Or the whole thing about us manipulating the way our town works just for some urban legend?” There is a bite to his bitter laugh as he sits back, his gaze raking up Sicheng’s body. Something in it is stark, something in it is broken. “I’ve lived in this town my entire life. It’s all I know. As stupid as it sounds, I listen to the story and never roam into the sunlight. My mother always told me to live safely, and that’s what I do.”

Merit remains in following the words of those that have experienced true fear, Sicheng supposes. Underneath the relative peace of this land is a deep-rooted fear embedded in truth. He never was one to listen to the words of others, though. Truth can be warped by reality, and he wonders if that is what he hears today.

“Yes,” Sicheng settles in a chair that feels sturdy under his weight, “I suppose it is good to listen to what your mother tells you.”

“What possessed you to move here, though?” Waving a hand around in the air, Kunhang searches for words. “This backwards town doesn’t have anything to offer other than an urban legend and quiet.”

“I searched for those,” explains Sicheng. “You see, I write tales of a sort. I document the stories of places unknown and spin them into stories that people will remember. A friend had notified me of this place. Perhaps you know him? Kun Qian.”

There is a moment where Kunhang does not know him, and then there is a moment where he does. Recognition opens his face and opens his mind farther than easy talk was able to. “Right! Kun—yeah, he’s, uh… I can’t remember what he does, not that it’s really important or anything.” Kunhang’s laugh is more open as he leans forward. “I’m not surprised that he told you about this place. He really liked it when he was here. This was his old house, wasn’t it?”

Sicheng does not know the man who once called this house a home, but Kunhang does not know that, nor does he need to. “It was,” he lies, weaving it with a truth, “and it was a very loved home while it was lived in.”

“He was an outsider, too. Like you. It was weird getting one then, and it’s weird for the people to get one now, too.” Troubled, Kunhang turns to look outside the window, where the sun is high. A room is already prepared for him. An empty space with nothing but a window. He had told Sicheng that just a room is enough, with a view of the world so he knows when to depart. “I don’t know if it’s because we don’t know better, or because we’re afraid that one day no one new will come.”

Laughing for the sake of peace, Sicheng offers it as a reply. Words are always better, though. “Yes, well, my hope is surely to bring word to outsiders of the beauty of this town.”

“For as long as the demon roams this town,” looking down, Kunhang shakes his head, “people will not come unless they’re curious and reckless. Honestly, we all thought you were a goner when you moved into this house in the middle of the day.”

“Have you ever seen the demon?” Sicheng asks.

Kunhang blinks. “Well, of course I have. It’s just a way of life.”

Eventually, outside, the sun will set and Kunhang will depart. Once again, the forest will whisper things, coaxing Sicheng into a place he cannot exist. The moon will never protect him the way that it does for the people that call this town home. It is the sun that cloaks him and allows him to move in ways he should not.

“Indeed. It is a way of life, is it not?”

* * *

Days are listless when a demon roams a forest. Sicheng is not sure to what degree he believes the words of the townspeople, though there is constant tempo of fear that shakes the earth when he awakens with the sun, and that does not slow until the sun has set. Urban legends, he thinks, can be powerful in manifesting things that should not exist. He wonders if this is like the small village on the edge of the world where people fell into a hole that did not exist unless one believed.

Or so the story goes. Sicheng never did believe in something he could not see. The human mind is always desperate to find explanations for things it cannot understand. He supposes that the village was in such a corner. Perhaps this town is the same. Days pass in silence and Sicheng sits beside a window to see the sun. He does not mind loneliness, though the lack of companionship is something noted the longer he resides in this small town hidden in forest. He is not sure how long he has been in this town, though the familiarity of some faces tells him that it has been long enough.

The sun begins to drag itself to a place that it cannot reach Sicheng as the phone rings. Kun’s voice is a welcome distraction in the face of an uncertain legend that plagues a population of people who close their blinds as the sun rises. He listens to the words that Sicheng speaks and the stories that feel so open ended, resolution so far from anyone’s grasp. There is no advice to be given, but Sicheng realizes that speaking the words out loud smooth out the wrinkles of worry that rest on his shoulders.

“They trust you?”

“I do not know if it is trust,” murmurs Sicheng, staring out his window, “or if it is their innate need to assure that another is not lost to whatever wanders between the trees. The world is still under the sun. It does seem to push towards a degree of truth I did not expect.”

Realization dawn and Kun sucks in a breath he does not need. “You will wander tonight.”

“Of course.”

Sun tucked beyond the horizon, Sicheng takes hold of his reality. The moon does not welcome him the way the sun does. It does not hold him with a million warm limbs, fingers pressed firm into his skin, wrapped around his throat. Rather, it presses him into the ground—buries him under decaying matter and wills for him to disappear. Sicheng will never understand or trust the moon, not that it is his duty.

“Will you be safe?”

Kun’s voice sounds far away, and Sicheng is not sure how to respond. Perhaps he will be fine, though nothing is ever guaranteed. There is strength and conviction to the words that the townspeople tell him, so Sicheng will allow himself to step into the moonlight. If he is truly safer under the moon, then Sicheng will accept this reality.

“I believe I will,” Sicheng says, though he does not sound sure. “It appears that the words of the people hold some degree of truth to them. If they warn me not to stray in daylight, then I wait for the night.”

“What do they say?”

“In the sunlight,” he explains, “wanders a demon. Mothers warn their children not to stray far from home when the sun is in the sky, and it feels almost akin to a rite of passage to observe it. It is said that everyone in this town has seen it. No two recollections are the same.”

Kun hums, though it sounds closer to the roar of an engine through the crackling sounds of their call. So far away, communication is difficult and spotty at best. “Intriguing. Have you seen it?”

“Not yet.” The night is more alive than the day, and Sicheng leans against the side of his house, not yet ready to stray into the moonlight. “I spend my days speaking to townspeople in the hopes of hearing something new. Every story is much the same—a demon who thrives in the sun. It never seems to leave the cover of the trees, though.”

“Does the earth protect a monster like that, though? I have never heard of a beast favored by the sun.”

“To be frank, I do not think it is a favored sort of demon,” Sicheng whispers. “I think it is more of the forgotten type. It exists through word of mouth and stories passed between generations, rather than through fear and death. Those sorts of things result in longevity, but never in power.”

“Are longevity and power not the same thing?” There is a pause as Kun awaits an answer he will never receive. “There is power in existence, and longer existences are worth so much more.”

Sicheng cannot disagree with that. Much as is there is power in life, there is a power that resides in simply existing. Beyond his window, the world thrums with delicate life that hides under the sun. Sicheng does not think he will ever understand this backwards town. Life exists in a state of reverse, and the life stills so suddenly that oxygen is pulled from his lungs. This forest is a living nightmare that refuses to move.

“Something new?” Kun’s voice cuts out for a moment, and Sicheng waits for the call to reconnect. “Hello?”

“I should wander while the moon is still in the sky.” Beyond his touch, not even the wind blows. “Perhaps it will protect me on this night.”

“Those words sound so foreign from you,” teases Kun. “Be safe.”

“Of course.”

The forest, at night, does not sing for him the way he knows it to. Life, under the moon, is something that Sicheng has never known. Familiarity and silence are things that he craves when he does not have it. To be given one and not the other feels obscene and uncomfortable in a way that makes his skin crawl. In the night, nothing moves, and nothing speaks, and Sicheng feels so painfully alone.

* * *

Deep within the forest, Sicheng finds a man who looks different in the sun. He is a monster, the people say. Sicheng is not so sure of that. The definition of what a monster in is nonexistent, really. Sicheng thinks that they do not know what a true monster is—that they have yet to stare down the barrel of a gun and say goodbye to someone who deserved better. He has seen that—lived that—and he thinks that they do not know what a monster looks like if they address Sicheng with a friendliness he does not deserve.

Sicheng has yet to kill a man. Beneath his skin, his blood thrums. It is not in his nature to kill, and never has he thought to draw similarities between disposal and death. To kill another is to sin, and to commit such an action has never crossed his mind. He has learned to speak first and judge later and he allows the sensation to seep out from his fingertips and back into the earth. Mistrust and hatred are the sort of emotions he does not need to foster.

The man’s name is Ten, or so he says. Sicheng is unsure of the truth, but he accepts it as he must. Names pass from day to day, person to person, and so there is no need to dig deeper. He is a man who does not know where he is, or how things happened. Time has passed around him and things have been lost. At his very core, however, Ten is a human who reaches desperately for connections that cannot exist when he roams the earth, embodied in fear.

He wishes to write stories about Ten because he is a lesson of patience and love and the ugliness of human nature. There are things to learn from this life that Sicheng is living and even more to learn from the loneliness that Ten has learned to survive in. Under the sun, he manifests himself as fear—or the source of it, Sicheng supposes. He is darkness incarnate, and Sicheng wonders how he looks to others. For him, Ten is a moon, whose reach is endless. There is something ominous of the way the light seems to stretch out for forever.

The moonlight cuts through the trees and the sun and invades spaces it does not belong. Sicheng thinks that this is not fear he feels, but curiosity and wonder. Under the sun, there is nothing to defy him, and so Ten’s form does not push him away. Rather, it draws him in, like a moth to a flame. There is danger, and unknowns, and Sicheng craves all of them.

Ten does not return to him until the sun has set and his fingers are pressing through the image, tearing it to pieces until the earth reclaims its remnants. It is like a birth, and Ten stares at him in wonder. There are no memories left over from his wanderings and Sicheng thinks that it must be something scary to have no recollection of half an existence.

“New,” Ten says. “You’re an unfamiliar face.”

“They say you are a shapeshifter,” Sicheng murmurs, avoiding unnecessary words. Bypassing unnecessary conversation that will leave him in the moonlight for too long.

“They call me a shapeshifter because no one ever says the same thing.” His hand is warm against the window, losing heat. Ten looks troubled. “No one has ever had to dispel the theory, so it stands. I’m a shapeshifting demon placed on this earth to keep humans in place.”

Derisive, Sicheng coughs out a laugh. “No demon is meant to put humans in any sort of place,” leaning back, he shakes his head, “for that is the role of the sun. It is with the sun that they move, and with the departure of the sun that they retire. This town works in a backwards sort of way that I have never thought would exist.”

Ten is a child of the moon that roams in the sun; an anomaly that has reversed the natural order of the world. In this town, hidden among trees, individuals stand on their proverbial heads and allow themselves to believe fairy tales. Sicheng has never seen a place so misunderstood and yet so settled in its ways. Change, it seems, has never touched this land. It is a place with no name that lasts longer than a century, and Sicheng wonders if the faded names and pervasive tales are what keep Ten alive.

“How long have you called this place your home?”

“Too long,” Ten whispers, turning to face Sicheng. “I’ve called this place my home before they found this land and built a town. I knew it when it was still empty, and I knew it at its fullest.”

“Do you crave silence?”

Laughter dances around the room as Ten turns to him in awe. There is something close to insanity at the edges of his aura, and Sicheng regards him warily, with a mix of hesitation and misunderstanding. “Do I crave silence? What type of question is that? If anything, I crave company. I miss the presence of those that understood me. They’ve long ago died, lost to the earth. It’s just me and this small house that never seems to die.”

Sicheng presses the heel of his palms against his thighs. He does not understand Ten, or what Ten claims to be. His words imply possession—that his soul belongs to this house and, in turn, the house belongs to him. But nothing explains the way that the forest falls silent as he awakens and roams the land; the way that the trees seem to keep him sealed to this small town in the middle of nowhere.

Time does not pass the same way here as it seems to exist outside of this town.

“Perhaps, for now, I will be your company.”

* * *

Demons are said to emerge from the flames of Hell and monsters are said to thrive in darkness. Sicheng is not sure where the stories originate, regardless of their elements of truth. Admittance of the presence of things born from darkness is obscene given the circumstances, though he adheres by the rules set by the humans of the town, regardless. They are the source of the jacket hung by the door and the way he departs from his house before the sun is given a chance to rise.

Standing under the light of the moon no longer feels frightening. There is still discomfort and uncertainty, but he wrangles them and forces them into submission. Sicheng is not meant to exist beneath anything but the sun. It is by the hands of grace and luck that he can stand so confidently and walk without fear.

Today he will speak with two men who exist on opposite spectrums. Sicheng will never understand individuals who can exist so close to someone who defies their convictions, though he supposes that people will always provide causes for surprise. Yukhei is a man who stands tall, and Dejun is a man who exists tall, and Sicheng finds them intriguing in the worst ways. The are barriers between Sicheng and the information he wants, and he does not have the energy to fight them for it.

Conversation flowers from introductions to small talk, before scattering to pleasantries that seem unnecessary. He learns things that he does not need to know; that Yukhei has grown and never left this town and that Dejun is a distant relative placed in his town by way of _behavioral correction_. Sicheng does not know what that means. His instinct tells him that it is better he never learns. Eventually it is steered towards what he wishes to know.

“You moved in under the sun,” Dejun says, tone sharp. “Why did you do that?”

Sicheng decides to answer honestly, though it has been months since he settled. “I did not know better. Stories had spoken of a beast, though I did not know that it thrives under the light of the sun. That is not how most monsters act, is it?”

“No,” mutters Yukhei, “though most towns don’t have stretches of forest cutting through the middle, do they? Most towns will at least have people roaming the streets during the day, no matter how small.”

“You have not seen the towns that I have lived in, then,” Sicheng says. “There is a town that rests at the edge of an ocean, yet you would not know. No citizen leaves their house. I did not know there were others there until my sixth month in the house. At least in this town I was quick to understand that it is simply a… reclusive circumstance.”

Yukhei laughs, loud. The sound almost shakes the house and Sicheng gathers his wits as he speaks. “Kunhang arrived at your door unannounced, didn’t he? You can say he was being a pain in the ass. That kid’s too much for his own good. He’s desperate to leave this place. It’s just…”

“Once you come here, you can’t leave,” finishes Dejun. “Something about this place keeps you here once you arrive.”

“Is it the demon?” Sicheng asks the question in earnest. There is nothing keeping him here, so he is confused as to why the inhabitants are so hesitant to leave. Should he step foot off the land, Sicheng will forget about this place and live a life with peace. “Does it keep you here?”

“It’s said that the demon follows you wherever you go.” Dejun’s laugh is bitter, borderline broken, as he stares up at Sicheng with eyes that are so wide and yet so _empty_. “There is no escaping it. If you leave this town, you’re bringing it with you wherever you go. That’s why people rarely leave. And if they do, we never hear from them again.”

“They say,” Yukhei eyes the axe on his wall, “that the demon gives itself a name when it meets you. That, at night, it’ll convince you to stay, even when it shouldn’t.”

Across the room, Sicheng watches as Dejun barks out a laugh. Between the two men exists a tension that Sicheng cannot understand. He has heard stories of them, from Kunhang. A man who hunts the demon and a man who does not believe in it. There is a constant war that brews between them, and Sicheng is unsure of what to make of this home.

“Kunhang says you moved here to write a book,” Dejun says as he leans forward. “That’ll help bring more people here. I think it’s a good idea. The town is desperate for new blood.”

“For the sake of the town or to appease whatever roams between the trees?” asks Sicheng.

Discomfort settles between the three men. The people of this town are fickle, as the only power they listen to is that which defies the sun. It is not Sicheng’s place to teach them differently, or change their minds, though he cannot help but consider it in such a suffocating place. Yukhei’s gaze is calculating and the only thing that spills from Dejun’s form is amusement. Sicheng is, to them, prey.

“Both.” Conversation is not dead, though Sicheng thinks that it surely feels like it is. “This town needs newcomers to sustain it and the demon requires new bodies to hold here.”

“Kunhang told me,” Sicheng navigates his words carefully, like whispers, “that it is a part of growing up, to see the demon.”

“Kids who don’t know better treat it like a,” Yukhei waves a hand, “like… _rite of passage_. They call their parents batshit crazy and sneak out of the house in the light of day. Wander out into the woods or whatever and peer between trees. One at a time, all on their own. Some kids never make it back. The kids who do never leave the house again.”

“I hope you like this town, Sicheng.” Something mildly stable breaks in Dejun’s consciousness as they look at one another. “I don’t think you’ll ever get to leave again.”

Sicheng does not have the heart to tell him that, should everything fail, he is the only one who will ever get to leave.

* * *

One day, at it rains outside, Ten manifests as a familiar face that Sicheng was sure he had forgotten. He appears like a whisper, and Sicheng does not know what to do. The face is accompanied by grief and regrets that have not tied him down in so long. There is a pain at the back of his skull that permeates his bones as it runs down his spine. It tears into his flesh with broken fingertips and reminds him of his past, the past before it, and the present that he currently exists in.

His name is one that Sicheng hesitates to speak. Names are powerful, and it will call upon itself memories and words and voices that he cannot bear to face. It is not like he has the ability to push him away, though. This is the face of a dead man that Sicheng has not thought of in far too long. Once upon a time it haunted him in a terrible sort of way, calling upon him in his dreams.

He wonders if this will reawaken those nightmares.

“It’s been a while.” The voice is the same, and Sicheng wonders if it is wrong to kill a man who is not dead and not alive. “What name do you call yourself?”

“Your soul has settled,” Sicheng murmurs, “so there is no name for me to give you.”

“Ah,” he laughs, “you wound me so. My soul never settled, not that I would allow it to. You’ve become disillusioned, have you? Call my name and wake me up properly, won’t you? It’s been so long since I’ve seen someone so familiar. I fell so long and so far, and this is the way that you greet me?”

It is a wonder that Ten exists in the sunlight—that he seems to hold a universe’s worth of souls in his body. Though Sicheng is not sure if this is a memory or a fragment of a soul that was so broken, there was no repairing it. Sicheng remembers bits and pieces of this man, and how scattered he was before his death. There is still evidence of brokenness in the gaze that greets Sicheng in the middle of the forest. Perhaps this is not the same as the Ten before, and perhaps this is truly a dead man walking.

“It is less a greeting and more of a curiosity of how much my mind has revealed of you.”

“Nothing, really,” he says, beckoning Sicheng into the sunlight. The edges of the forest are their barriers, and Sicheng watches as he stands at it, staring out into the openness. A part of Ten—or this man, whoever he is for the eye—must yearn to leave this forest and feel the world spin once again. “Parts of me have remained here. Today, I found you.”

“How long will you remain with me?” Sicheng curses the hope that curls around his throat and forces words out of his mouth. “For how long can you exist?”

“Not for as long as you may wish for me to.”

Questions roam through Sicheng’s mind. This man has been for dead for as long as Ten has probably been alive. Through the years, Sicheng has collected countless words that he wished to communicate. In the end, they have all escaped him and he stands still and unsure. It is difficult to parse apart all the thoughts that have built up and decide an order of importance. Everything is important when it comes to this man.

“You have plenty of questions, as always,” he says, smile familiar. It is warm and welcoming in the sort of way Sicheng remembers. But this man is dead, and this is simply a fraction of who he was. Of who he could have been. “I can answer them if you ask.”

“Did it hurt?”

Startled, he looks at Sicheng, head tilted to the side. “Did what hurt?”

“Dying.”

“In the physical way or the emotional way?” His hands are waving around now, his attention diverted to rest over Sicheng’s shoulder. The rain falls without hesitation. Sicheng wonders if that is why he is here—that the weather is the type that he always fancied. “Because both hurt. It hurt the worst, though, in my heart because I felt like I had been betrayed. Because I _was_ betrayed.”

“I—”

“And then I learned that I wasn’t betrayed,” he whispers, “and my death was simply the byproduct of fate. And, God, do I fucking hate fate. They’re the biggest pain in my ass. But I guess they brought me back here, so I can’t hate them all that much. They’re letting me see you again.”

“Yes,” Sicheng blinks, “Fate is something of an annoying sort of thing, are they not?”

Outside the thunder booms and the man’s head is thrown back in laughter. Sicheng pointedly looks away, knowing that he will have to answer for his brusque choice of words once he leaves this town. “They didn’t like that.”

“I go by Sicheng here,” he answers, palms pressed to his waist, polite, “though I cannot tell you all the names I have been given since you saw me last. Time does not stop, but it is difficult to compile everything, as I am sure you are aware.”

There are things that will always be missing between them, and Sicheng is unsure of how to put those things to rest. The man, however, is satisfied by idle chatter which had been stolen from him so long ago. He was lonely, for so long, and now he has come to accept the way that Fate tugs him. Sicheng will forever stand alone in the sun, and this man will one day be reborn with a different face, a different name, and a different story. Perhaps they will meet again.

The sun sets and, with it, the face that has been dead for so long bids farewell.

“Rest peacefully, Yangyang.”

His laugh is loud, even among the trees that seem to swallow it whole. Beyond them, the town begins to awaken and reemerge. Sicheng, if he is honest, will say that he will miss Yangyang. Sicheng, if he is honest, will beg Yangyang to find peace, even if it will escape him for as long as time exists. He is not honest, though, and he is too embroiled in this world to let it go.

“Will there ever be peace for me?” Yangyang asks with amusement. “I’m a dead man, Sicheng. You’re free to forget me—earnestly this time.”

Under the moon, Yangyang fades and Ten emerges. He never remembers the day; only the night stays with him. For that, Sicheng is grateful.

* * *

Sicheng craves to find an end to this all. It is within his grasp—it always has been—and he settles upon a day as the sun rises and Ten departs. This town has reborn memories and thoughts and feelings that Sicheng should not have. They crawl beneath his skin and bring him back to life in a way he must not. He has spent enough time here to know what he must do. Days without exploration are spent beside closed windows listening to the sunny silence. The longer he is here, the quieter daylight becomes.

Today is a day away from Ten’s side, Kun’s voice reverberating into the silence. There is another voice there—two, to be precise—providing more depth to the conversation. Or preventing it from delving too far into it, he supposes. They are disembodied, in a way. Sicheng does not remember the faces associated with them, though he supposes that he will remember them soon enough.

“Are you sure you do not want us to come?” They are young and they are restless, and eager to leave Kun’s side. “I chose a name already. And a face.”

“Perhaps next time,” Sicheng answers, easy. They are still young and restless, eager to see what the universe has to offer. Sun caught around his throat, Sicheng wants to tell them that this is not what anyone pictures.

Fed fantasies, Sicheng lives on the ends of the threads that fray. They pull him along as he watches the world around him continue to turn without him. The universe so wishes it to be, so Sicheng allows himself to fall prey to fate and their heavy-handed affection for the children of the sun; watches the way it twists the necks of those born to the moon. They all fall, because that is the way things must be, but the speed with which their bodies meet the ground and the earth reclaims them will always be different.

Fate clings to those that it loves and quickly disposes of those that it hates. Sicheng has fallen into its graces, though he so often tests the limits of their affection. He prods at the limits that have been set before him and only continues on his way by the grace of the sun and his past successes. Fate holds affection for him, so he continues to thrive, even as the earth screams for his body and begs to bury him alive.

“You always say next time.” This voice is flatter—they know better, and Sicheng finds solace in knowing that they are still behind. “I, too, have chosen a name and a face, though. I look forward to the day I can accompany you. It is not a powerful name, but I think that it is better that way.”

Names, Sicheng thinks, have slowly lost their worth. The longer he exists, the more he realizes that power rests in memory. It is what brought Yangyang to him, and it is what keeps Ten alive. Memory and faith are what allows them to walk so freely. Sicheng will no longer take them for granted in the way he used to. The way that the sun sings for him is no longer the same and he realizes that he is losing his relevancy. His time here in this town wanes.

“When will you return?”

“Shall we accompany you?”

“Have you decided?”

“Is the date set?”

“I will be fine,” Sicheng whispers, taking a moment to listen to the surge of life outside the window. He allows himself space in his mind to ponder Ten’s existence—a man cursed to have no fear. “The day is determined. Hopefully the sun will look down upon this favorably. I look forward to seeing you when I return.”

It is not a lie, though Sicheng feels the pull of this town on his body, mind, and soul. It threatens to pull him into the earth and keep him rooted here. Nothing is linear. The way the earth spins rests on its side, hurtling into a direction that no one can predict. Memories have settled, falling from the sky like boulders careening over cliffs, and Sicheng is trapped beneath them, struggling to breath.

“Inform me when I should return.”

Life settles and silences outside the window again. Eventually the sun will set and Sicheng will, again, depart. “I will.”

“It will…” There is a pause, and Sicheng senses worry and fear and distance. “It will hurt. It will hurt terribly. Again and again and again.”

“I know,” Sicheng says, blinking against the sun. “As it should be.”

There are memories that Sicheng must once again bury behind a new face, a new name, a new body. Fate asks him to move forward and he accepts.

* * *

To sin is to live, Sicheng thinks. That is why he stands beside Ten in the sunlight. For the first time in his existence, he thinks that there is something beautiful about the moon, tangled between the trees. The sun is beginning to whisper that he is a traitor; that his creator no longer sees him as a whole. Rather, he is beginning to crack into parts that may one day become irreparable. In pieces, Sicheng will never leave this place.

They all want to be free from whatever things keep them chained to this place. That is why Sicheng is here. That is why he stands before them like this and asks what they wish for. Rarely do humans know how to wish properly—the look for wants, and they look for needs, but they cannot hear what the universe guides them towards. That is why, as the moon fades away and Ten stands in front of him, Sicheng realizes that it is time to ask.

“What is it that you want?”

Ten looks around himself, uncertain of the origin of the question. All he has known is this house whose walls show no signs of time passing through. Sicheng wonders if he can hear the way that the moon cries and the universe around them screams. The sun, beyond the horizon, begs to release life again, the way that it is supposed to be. And, Sicheng realizes, this is his purpose. He resides in this small town without a start and an end for the sun and the life and the people who have not heard the roar of a summer wind in generations.

“What do _I_ want?” He points to himself in disbelief, waiting for Sicheng to trick him. “You can’t give me what I want.”

“I implore you to not doubt my ability to fulfill your wish, Ten.” There is power in a name, a shudder running up Ten’s spine in response. “The caveat is that you must make the correct wish, or I will ask you again.”

“Stay here.”

“What is it that you want?”

“I want you to stay here,” Ten whispers. “I’m lonely. It’s so lonely here.”

Sicheng steps away as Ten reaches out. A fracture between them builds. “You must wish for the correct thing for me to fulfill it.”

“This is a trick, isn’t it?” asks Ten, quietly. “The moon has never given me what I want, either, even though they sing for me every night. They told me that what they’ve given me is a gift, and yet all I’ve done is suffer. I’m chained to this place. I’ll never escape. They tell me that they’re keeping me safe, but all they’ve done is keep me imprisoned. I keep these people here like they ask, and yet never have I been allowed to stray beyond the trees. I’m a prisoner to the moon. They’ve kept me alive and, in return, I am never allowed to leave.”

Sicheng thinks that he too is indebted to someone. The sun has kept Sicheng alive long enough to see the genesis of life and, in return, he will never betray them. If things were different, and Sicheng was not chained to an entity that hides in the sky, he would allow himself to stay here. The earth would swallow his soul and he would never leave. Life tears him in half, though, desperate for the essence of the sun that he had been gifted so long ago.

“If you make the correct wish,” Sicheng whispers, “I will free you. You are close. They wish for you to wish for something different, yet something the same. You are lonely because you are kept within these four walls in a dying forest. The trees no longer sing to you.”

“Can I not defy them?” Palm pressed to his chest, Ten steps forward. “Have I lost the power to do that, too?”

“Are we not dying them by standing here?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know that we stand here because of fate. Because they’ve decided it would be funny to tear us apart once again.” He gestures between them, eyes alight as he speaks, the world around them shaking. “You’re acting like what fate does to us isn’t cruel. We’re star crossed lovers of the worst kind. Humans are cruel, but aren’t they crueler? Keeping me alive for this?”

“Make your wish.”

“I wish to forget you.” Ten pauses, before breathing. He is sad and crying, but the soul no longer recognizes the body. “And I wish to see you.”

Sicheng thinks of the scars that run up his back—the way that Ten stares at him with understanding and innocence. There history that exists between them is long, and twisted, and Sicheng wishes that he never remembered. It is why he picks a new name, a new face, a new story. In such a way, their lives are forever entwined, and this soul will find his again in the future. This is the way that the sun and the moon have decided to help them learn.

Memories are scars that tear him into pieces. They wish to pull his body into pieces, some for the earth and some for the sun. Fissures run from his spine and crack his bones, reminding Sicheng why he is here and why this is his purpose. There is pain, and there is suffering, but Sicheng has learned to live with it; accept what the sun has gifted him with and what the earth wishes to reclaim.

“They look painful.”

Sicheng smiles in a way that is only a half-truth. “I suppose they are. Not as painful as you think they are, though.”

“I’ll believe you.”

“Sleep for now,” Sicheng pushes hair away from Ten’s fear-stricken face, “and I will be here when you awaken.”

Stories are spun from nothing as Ten stares at the wall. They are Sicheng’s attempts to lull him into sleep—to pull the energy from within him and leave him once again mortal. Eventually, Ten surrenders to dreams that he has not seen in thousands of years. There is something beautiful and something tragic about him, so weak in this moment.

As Ten slumbers, Sicheng lives. This is their reality. There is temptation and there is separation, and Sicheng decides that the latter is favorable. There is something ironic about the way this man—perhaps—leads a life that so many would dream to have. Solitude and isolation, however, will forever be the bane of human existence.

“This is earth,” Sicheng whispers, “and it calls to me.”

It is unfortunate, then, that Sicheng will never reply. There is a sort of distance now. Sicheng does not know how to navigate it. A pain lives in his shoulders, digging into his throat and pulling it open until he is broken into half. In the sky, the moon cries as Ten finds peace. It is finally home for Sicheng to return home.

* * *

This is the end in a pretty sort of way; boxes piled by the doorway, strangers pushing them out the door, the sun high in the sky. Sicheng is a child of the sun and he closes his eyes every time the door opens; welcomes the world every time it closes. There is something profound about the way his world has turned itself on its head and opened itself again.

Openness. That is the theme—that is the message that he wishes to exist for an eternity in this town. Sicheng wishes for the gift he leaves behind to be something akin to, though not the same as, freedom. He has already tested the patience of Fate this journey. He will need to answer to them and, for a moment, Sicheng wonders what form they will take this time. They are fond of dimples and bright skin and loud laughs.

In the small, modest house in the middle of a town blanketed in forest, Kun turns to him. Outside the open door, the sun shines fiercely, as if it tries to pull both of them away. Sicheng supposes that it does as they stand outside of this lonely house settled between trees. This town is small, and listless, and it will grow in the coming years. In the sunlight, life will grow.

“You have always been a quick worker.” Kun breathes deeply, and slowly, and Sicheng, for a moment, sees something different. Reality is warped and they are byproducts of humanity. “I suppose I should not be surprised after all this time.”

Around them is a town that Sicheng wishes to protect. There are faces, familiar, that he will one day forget. He is already a passing memory for them, existing on the periphery until he is simply an empty face in a crowd.

“Of course.” Sicheng listens to the wind blow. There is relief laced within the happiness that wraps around his body as the breeze passes. “I am desperate to leave this place.

“You did the right thing.” His tone is reassuring, and yet Sicheng finds the tips of his fingers pressing into counter surfaces that do not move with the force of his hand. With the force of his spirit, perhaps, they will. “You know that, right? You have saved this town and the people within it.”

“I do,” he whispers. The trees, outside his windows, shiver with him. This forest will forever hold a piece of him, buried deep beneath the topsoil, roots wrapped around the gift he has given it. It is a silent _I love you_ ; a prayer that it will remain the same until time itself no longer exists and the universe once again collapses in on itself to start anew.

“Do you feel empty?” Kun asks, eyes all-knowing. He cannot lie, and, in return, he can see through the words that Sicheng offers him.

Sicheng, head bowed, is unsure. “That I do not know.”

Sicheng presses his hand, flat, to the door, and hopes that this is enough. In the sunlight, they will now feel safe. The people of this town will no longer wake up and whisper to one another about things that do not exist. No hands will emerge from the ground and keep them pinned to the earth as the clouds pass across the sky. Their memories of the demon who walks in the sun will fade until it is no longer with them.

This town is unusual in that it settled after the creature called this place its home. No harm has actually befallen anyone beyond the blanket of loneliness that was wrapped so tightly around their necks as they slept. The lost children are casualties of fate and not the monster that the townspeople believed would strangle them in the sunlight. Broken stories will litter this town’s history until a new generation lays a new foundation and the memories that keep the demon alive are laid to rest.

Far, far away, Ten begins to forget the man with the scars running down his back and begins to remember a face without a name. It is a human vision that Sicheng will never erase. It is a permanent fixture in the mind of the man possessed to remain in the center of a forest for as long as time exists, though there is no such thing as timelessness or eternity when one day, surely, everything will end.

The concept of humanity is one that Sicheng will never understand, regardless of the task at hand. In some sort of way, there is a namelessness and listlessness and many things that are less in the universe that no simple mind can wrap around. The stars are souls, and the universe is one collective mind, and nothing truly makes sense.

There is a clearing of a throat, attention diverted, a conversation blooming.

“There is a town,” Kun begins, “that speaks of blood raining from trees.”

Outside the car, the world passes by faster than Sicheng can process. “I think a yellow house this time would be nice.”

“I will see what I can do.”

This is Sicheng’s task—to remove those that have called this world home for eons for the sake of beings whose lives only last a century at best. Sicheng knows nothing else and completes the orders given, even if some hearts must be broken in the process. Memories will fade and experiences will embed themselves in the subconscious.

One day, in the near future, humans will leave this land, much as Sicheng does. This place, after all, is not their home.

**Author's Note:**

> hey this was messy but i hope that it all makes a little more sense :]  
> find me on twitter with the same handle :D


End file.
